


The Middle Ground

by tinylilremus



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, becoming human, but like ninety percent fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 03:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20324683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinylilremus/pseuds/tinylilremus
Summary: After avoiding the apocalypse and the punishments of heaven and hell, Crowley and Aziraphale are looking forward to their new, quieter lives. But then Crowley's eyes start changing and Aziraphale's hair starts growing darker. More than that, they're starting to feel new sensations like hunger and tiredness.And even more than that, as unnerving as these new changes are, what Crowley wants more than anything else is just to tell Aziraphale how he feels about him.





	The Middle Ground

It starts the morning after their meal at the Ritz. Crowley's slightly groggy, but nevertheless elated at having finally spent time with Aziraphale with no real talk of heaven or hell, just their interests, how bizarre their new acquaintances are, how Aziraphale hoped they would keep in touch, how charming Crowley found Tadfield and how he strangely found himself wanting to go back and visit without the impending threat of Armageddon. They had spoken well into the early hours of the morning, talking with an ease that neither of them had ever had the luxury of exploring before. For the first time in millennia, they could just _exist_. It was exhilarating.

It’s in this haze of giddiness and reminiscing that Crowley first encounters his reflection. He surveys his crop of red hair, wondering whether or not he should grow it out again. He misses being able to just throw it up into a bun whenever it annoyed him and he knows Aziraphale prefers it longer anyway. He’s never said as much, but the first time they met up after Crowley had cut it shorter the angel’s nose scrunched slightly as if trying to hold back a look of disappointment. Perhaps now that things between them were so open to possibility, it wouldn’t hurt to offer a bit of additional temptation.

His eyes drift down to meet their reflected counterparts and he jumps slightly. He’s seen his face in hundreds of different lights in hundreds of different reflective surfaces for hundreds and thousands of years. He has a pretty good idea of what his eyes should look like. Except that today they’re different. The slits of his pupils are smaller and far rounder than he’s ever seen them, and the yellow surrounding them has faded, not by much, but enough that Crowley is dumbstruck by the change.

He rushes through the rest of his morning routine so that he can get Aziraphale’s opinion too, because whatever is happening is undeniably strange. Pausing only briefly to try on a darker pair of sunglasses than the ones he usually wears, he darts out of the house and speeds his Bentley through the streets of London.

Upon arriving at the bookshop, Crowley sees that it’s closed. This isn’t the strangest thing as Aziraphale has been known to close the shop for days at a time to avoid customers, but usually, the angel has a sixth sense about when it’s Crowley popping by and makes sure that the door is open for him. Unbidden, his mind vindictively flashes to the smell of smoke and roar of burning paper, to that feeling of helplessness when only two days ago he thought he’d lost the only thing he’d ever truly cared about. But he takes a deep breath and the feeling passes, though his heart is still racing. Strangely, as if to set his mind at ease, it’s just then that he hears a key scraping in the lock and the bell above the shop door tinkle.

“Crowley, I wasn’t expecting you so early. Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. It’s not your lot harassing you again, is it?”

“Nah, it was nothing. I narrowly avoided a cyclist and I’m still a bit jumpy after heaven yesterday, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Aziraphale’s nose does that scrunch again, the one that tells Crowley that he doesn’t believe him.

“Well then, you’d better get inside where it’s safe,” the angel replies and Crowley’s stomach does a small thrill at Aziraphale’s hand pressed to the small of his back as he’s let in. In fact, he’s so distracted by this new daring physical contact that it takes him a moment or two to realise that Aziraphale is wearing a hat. Which is strange – he hardly ever wears hats. The last time he had seen Aziraphale in a hat that wasn’t part of a costume or disguise was the nineteenth century, which leads Crowley to suspect that him wearing an ostentatious top hat here in the twenty-first century is, in fact, a disguise.

“Bad hair day?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale’s hand flies self-consciously up to the hat.

“Yes, you could say that.” He pops into his office to start boiling the kettle on his ancient two-ring hot plate and Crowley settles down into his favourite armchair, taking a moment to breathe in the comforting scent of the place. It’s been his unofficial second haunt for as long as Aziraphale’s had it, but for whatever reason, he’s never felt more connected to it than he does now. Home, he realises as he looks around him. It feels something like a home.

Aziraphale comes back a minute or two later with two teacups and a steaming teapot on top of an ornate silver tray. The sight makes Crowley smile. The angel never does anything by half. After allowing Aziraphale to pour a cup for him, Crowley reaches for it and sits back to survey him.

“So how bad is a bad hair day if it’s making you pull out your accessories from the eighteen-hundreds?”

“Rather bad, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale replies, taking a tentative sip of his tea. “Well, not so much bad, actually, as different. Now you know that I have barely changed what I do with my appearance in six thousand years, which is why I’m a tad upset that today it’s a completely different colour.”

“Show me,” says Crowley, and realising that his demands could come off as rude, he adds, “Only if you’re comfortable with it, mind.”

“Alright, but please don’t laugh. I couldn’t even miracle it back to normal and I’ve already made an appointment with a hair salon to see what they can do about fixing it.”

“On my demonic honour,” says Crowley, smirking and placing a hand over his heart which makes Aziraphale let out a little huff of amusement. Slowly, as if trying to remove the lid on a vat of some volatile substance, Aziraphale removes his hat and Crowley has to bite back a gasp. His hair, stark white the day before, is now a dirty blonde colour.

“Oh shit,” is all Crowley can manage. It’s certainly more immediately noticeable than his eyes – after all, he only sees his eyes a few times every day. But Aziraphale… he’s always made a point to see Aziraphale as often as he can. And even when not around him, he’s all Crowley thinks about. Apart from the costume changes, the way Aziraphale looks is a constant in an ever-changing world and to see him so different, the hair so much darker, framing his face in a new way, is startling, but not altogether unwelcome.

“Is it really that bad?” He’s looking at Crowley now with a look of pleading and Crowley notices the tears forming in his eyes. Aziraphale is scared. Crowley can feel it radiating from him in waves and he realises he needs to do something about it.

“Hey, no, it’s not bad at all,” he says, setting his tea down so that he can scramble closer to the angel. “I personally think it looks great on you, but I can understand how it would be a bit of a shock to wake up like this. Want me to take a shot at a miracle?”

“Oh, would you?” Aziraphale almost whispers, relief flooding his face. “I really don’t know about such a drastic change. There’s already been so much of it this week.”

“Of course. Hold still.”

Gently, so gently it’s almost reverent, Crowley places his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s face and tries to summon up as much energy as he can, but it feels like there’s some sort of force around his hair preventing him from changing it back. He lingers for a moment, no longer trying to perform the miracle, just allowing himself a moment to feel the warmth of the angel’s flushed cheeks beneath his palms.

“Any luck?” Aziraphale asks after a moment or two, far more optimistically than Crowley would have dared ask. Crowley shakes his head and the effect is immediate. Aziraphale’s cheeks, flushed just a moment before, drain of all colour, a contrast made all the more intense by his new darker hair. He reaches up shaky hands to take Crowley’s and Crowley takes this as a sign that Aziraphale wants him to take his hands off his face and begins pulling them away. Instead, Aziraphale’s hands wrap tighter around his as he stares him.

“Crowley, you don’t think… it couldn’t be that I’ve fallen, could it?”

The thought had crossed his mind, but with the fear he sees in Aziraphale’s eyes, he knows now is not the time to voice it.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions – it’s been a crazy few days. In any case, something weird happened to my appearance too, so if that’s the case I don’t know why it would affect both of us.”

“Oh?” says Aziraphale, still pale, but now with concern that Crowley realises is aimed at him. He pulls one of his hands free to pull off his sunglasses and Aziraphale gasps. “Crowley, your pupils are round.”

“Completely?” he asks, panicked.

“No, not quite, but they’re certainly looking far less demonic. What do you think this means? Did something perhaps go wrong while we were switching yesterday?”

“I don’t think so. Your hair would probably be redder if that was the case. I don’t know what this is and we can’t seem to miracle our way out of it. Perhaps we just try to get by for the time being and see what happens. Nothing else has changed as far as I’ve noticed.”

“No, you’re right, of course. No sense worrying about something that seems to be purely aesthetic anyway. Would you… would you come with me to the salon later, though? I so rarely let people touch my hair, let alone work with it and frankly, I’m terrified.”

“Of course,” says Crowley, giving Aziraphale’s hand a quick squeeze before jumping to his feet, collecting his tea and using a miracle to snap his armchair next to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale looks for a moment like he might say something about this impromptu furniture rearrangement, but the moment passes and as soon as Crowley is sitting and has reached for Aziraphale’s hand again, he’s wearing that soft, contented smile that Crowley finds so beautiful. “Now, Angel, yesterday you were telling me an anecdote about borrowing Oscar Wilde’s scarf and accidentally never giving it back and we were interrupted by the bill. I definitely need to hear how this one ends. You wouldn’t actually steal something, would you? And here I thought you were beyond reproach.”

“Not on purpose!” says Aziraphale defensively. “Though I will admit there was a part of me that was glad he never asked for it again.”

Crowley laughs, listening to Aziraphale talk. It’s fun reminiscing with the angel. They alone are the only two beings in the entire universe who know what it’s been like to live on Earth from its beginning to its (happily avoided) end. Crowley wonders how he would have endured it without him – probably with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. The fact that he’s sitting here, in Aziraphale’s cosy little shop, holding his hand and tracing small circles with his thumb is a miracle he doesn't think he deserves and thus is immensely grateful for.

Having largely grown accustomed to holding Aziraphale’s hand by now, he doesn’t let go of it as they get ready to walk the few blocks to the upmarket beauty salon where Aziraphale has booked his hair appointment. After a bit of a back-and-forth, Crowley has convinced the angel to leave without the hat (“Honestly, Angel, it’s going to draw far more attention than your hair will.”) and the two of them set off down the busy London street.

Upon arriving, Aziraphale is almost immediately whisked away to have his hair shampooed and conditioned and he watches with curiosity as the angel’s expression moves from sheer terror to complete bliss. He wonders what it would be like to do that for him – to run his fingers through his hair, to pull that look of sheer relaxation and comfort from him. There’s a lot that would have to happen between them before that and he’s still not even entirely sure that Aziraphale wants that, but Crowley wants him to want that. After yesterday, the hope has become almost impossible to suppress. There had to be some significance to the soft way Aziraphale had toasted and the delighted look on his face when Crowley called him a bastard. And hadn’t they just been holding hands? Even if this was friendship, they were far past whatever the average for friendship was.

“He’s well fit, your man,” says a lady in a thick cockney accent next to Crowley, only barely startling him. Crowley briefly debates whether or not he should set the record straight, but then decides it’s not exactly lying. If anyone in the world was his man, it was Aziraphale.

“Yeah, he is,” Crowley agrees, trying and failing to stifle the smile spilling across his features.

“I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting anything done while you’re waiting? Hair bleaching is quite the process. A trim perhaps? A little manicure?”

Crowley looks down at his nails. It’s been far too long since he last painted them. The thought of a manicure sounds pretty great at this point.

“Yeah, go on,” he says, stretching out his nails. “Where do you want these?”

The nail technician, Paige, leads him over to a table with a perfect view of Aziraphale and an even better view once he’s seated in the hair stylist’s chair. Crowley locks eyes with Aziraphale’s reflection in the mirror and offers him an encouraging smile. It returns, still nervous, but with the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way that makes Crowley weak at the knees.

“Sure we can’t tempt you into getting that trim too?” Paige asks, but Crowley shakes his head.

“Planning to grow it out,” he explains and Paige nods as she sticks Crowley’s fingers in a bowl of warm water. In the mirror opposite, Aziraphale is blushing.

* * *

They decide to dine at another of Aziraphale’s favourite haunts that night and, for the first time in history, Crowley opens the menu.

“Crowley, you don’t mean to actually order something other than a glass of wine tonight do you?” he looks both shocked and elated. Truth be told, Crowley isn’t sure what exactly it was that prompted him to look at the meals on offer, but now that he has there is a deep pang in his stomach that seems to insist he commits to following through. The smells coming from the kitchen are amazing in a way that they haven’t ever been before and it suddenly dawns on him what must be happening.

“I think I’m hungry,” says Crowley, just as surprised as Aziraphale. “I’ve never been hungry before.”

“I think I am too, though I don’t think we’re supposed to be able to,” says Aziraphale, frowning. “I mean, of course, these assigned bodies look and feel like real bodies, but they shouldn’t _behave_ like real bodies – at least not in terms of needs like food and rest. I don’t know what it is that’s happening to us today, Crowley, but it’s frightfully unnerving.”

Crowley glances to Aziraphale’s hair which had been almost back to his usual shade of white blonde mere hours ago but is now already starting to darken. He hopes Aziraphale doesn’t catch a glimpse of his reflection at any point tonight. He doesn’t want him to panic more than Crowley can already feel he is. He, himself, has been determined to not look at his eyes until he absolutely has to.

No, the plan for tonight is to make Aziraphale forget that anything weird is actually happening to them and to just enjoy their new freedom. No reporting back, no worries about being caught fraternising with the enemy, just the two of them, the delicious-looking steak special and the excellent bottle of wine that Aziraphale picked out. He tells Aziraphale as much and is rewarded with a room-brightening grin as a reward. Though he doesn’t know for sure yet what it is that’s going on between them, he knows enough to be sure that he’s the luckiest bastard in this restaurant.

“You know, I haven’t yet had the chance to have a good look at what they did with your nails,” says Aziraphale, and Crowley immediately offers his right hand for closer inspection. Aziraphale takes it and smiles approvingly. “Scarlet was an excellent colour choice. They look gorgeous.”

He runs his thumb gently over Crowley’s knuckles and then just… doesn’t let go. Instead, he lowers their hands to rest on the table between them while he picks up his wine with his other hand.

“Ha, nicely played, Angel,” laughs Crowley, adjusting his hand to thread his fingers through Aziraphale’s, and it’s then that Crowley realises that if he doesn’t just ask for clarification right now, he’s not going to make it through this dinner. He has to know if this is actually happening. “Look, it’s taking every bit of courage I have for me to ask this, but all the handholding, dinner at the Ritz yesterday… what are we doing here? What do you want us to be doing here? Because it’s getting to the point where there’s no going back for me. I’ve put too much of my heart into this.”

“You love me,” says Aziraphale and Crowley can’t infer anything from it. It was stated as pure fact in the same way he might point out that the sky is blue or that ducks swim.

“Yes,” Crowley agrees. “And you know that because of your love radar senses?”

“Among other things,” says Aziraphale, squeezing Crowley’s hand. “You do also go to quite extraordinary lengths to show it at times.”

“Yes well…” Crowley mumbles, feeling a blush creeping into his neck.

“I realise that demons don’t sense love the same way we do, but you must be able to sense other emotions.”

“Disgust, anger, envy, fear – basically all of your garden variety negative emotions.”

“Well, take fear for example. What is the most afraid you can ever remember me being?” He’s looking at Crowley expectantly and Crowley’s memories immediately flashback to a tartan thermos and the absolute terror in Aziraphale’s eyes as he handed it over.

“The Holy Water heist – when you got the water for me instead. You were angry too.”

“Of course I was,” says Aziraphale. “You, a demon, had made an asinine plan to go after the one thing that could properly hurt you. Even a small amount of it could have dissolved you completely. That’s not just discorporation, Crowley. That’s non-existence. That’s your last moments filled with pain and agony beyond imagining and then just you no longer being there, with no way to get to you, no way to ever see you again. The thought terrified me. It still terrifies me.”

Aziraphale’s grip around Crowley’s hand is so tight that his knuckles are turning white, but Crowley barely notices it because it’s suddenly all falling into place.

“Why, Crowley, do you think that the most terrifying moment of my life would be handing you that thermos full of pure holy water?”

“Because you love me,” says Crowley, his mind struggling to come to terms with the words he’s hearing. “Holy shit, Aziraphale, you love me?”

A warmth unlike any he’s ever known spreads through his chest as the meaning of what Aziraphale just said fully sinks in. Aziraphale is smiling, beaming at Crowley now and it only serves to make Crowley’s heart race faster.

“With all my heart.”

“That’s… wow,” Crowley replies, completely at a loss for words. “That’s good then.”

“I’d say so. And I’d also say that if two people felt romantical about each other, it would be rather silly for them to not pursue that, not so?”

“Truly idiotic,” says Crowley, lifting Aziraphale’s hand slowly, hesitantly before pressing the softest kiss to each knuckle and it’s unfortunately right at that moment that the waiter arrives with their starter course, somewhat cutting through the intensity of the moment.

Crowley has a proper three-course meal for the first time in his life, and though it’s as delicious as Aziraphale has been loudly raving all these years, it has nothing on the angel’s smile and knowing that it was Crowley that put it there.

* * *

Both Crowley and Aziraphale are exhausted by the time dinner is over, which is a completely new experience for them. Though Crowley chooses to sleep at night, it’s only ever because he finds it pleasant. Their bodies aren’t supposed to feel fatigued. After all, the forces of good and evil never slept – their respective bureaus couldn’t afford them to either.

Unless that’s what heaven and hell were trying to do now – weaken them so that they would be easier to capture again. Best not to think about that until morning.

“We’ll take a cab to my flat,” says Crowley. “I’ve at least got a bed.”

“Good thinking,” says Aziraphale, yawning loudly as Crowley hails one down.

After giving the cab driver the address, he settles back into his seat and tries not to melt too much when Aziraphale rests his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Love you,” he says

“Love you too,” Crowley replies, his heart overflowing.

“It’s nice to be able to finally say it in words.”

“Agreed.”

As Crowley begins drifting off, he glances at the eyes of the cabbie in the rear-view mirror and, for a moment, is filled with a flash of gut-punching familiarity though he can’t quite place who they belong to. A heartbeat later, he finds himself in the wide-open expanse where, days before, time had stopped long enough for Aziraphale and him to speak to Adam. It looked the same except that now it was just the two of them.

“Crowley, you’re here too,” says Aziraphale, sounding relieved. “Did you do something? The last thing I remember is you saying ‘I love you’ and then the next I was here. What do you think it means?”

“I have no idea, but I’m glad you’re here too.” He reaches for Aziraphale’s hand and the two of them begin making their way slowly through the powdery white sand. They manage to make it about ten meters before a loud voice rings out over the landscape.

“Aziraphale, Crowley, where are you going?”

Crowley’s heart plummets. The last time he had heard that voice was when he was being cast out of heaven. Perhaps Aziraphale had fallen after all then. He glances at Aziraphale, who is sheet white and completely motionless.

“Relax, Crowley,” says God, gently. “No one is falling today – at least not in the traditional sense. You’re probably wondering why I’ve brought you here.”

“Yes, the thought had crossed my mind,” says Aziraphale with bravado that Crowley knows he’s borrowing. Aziraphale’s fear is so overwhelming, it’s making Crowley forget to feel his own.

“Look, Your Lordship, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer if you got the punishment over with quickly. It’s been a long, strange day for us.”

“That’s precisely what I brought you here to talk to you about. Had it not been for you two, our final, decisive war would be underway as we speak. As it stands, it would appear we are still in a time of peace. Now, both sides are noticeably put out by this, as I’m sure you picked up on while cleverly evading their punishments. I, however, do not share these same frustrations.”

“You don’t?” asks Aziraphale carefully and the voice of God laughs softly.

“No, I don’t. It means that I will have to wait a bit longer to wrap everything up, but time has never worked quite the same for me, so this is hardly a problem. More than anything, I am not angry because I understand why you did it. You love this planet as you love each other and love that pure, love that all-consuming that it would lead you to face down the powers of heaven and hell to preserve it, deserves a reward, not punishment. So I’m giving you what you want. What you’ve both secretly desired all these years.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange a glance as they squeeze each other’s hands.

“I’m giving you the chance to be human.”

The gravity of these words takes a moment to sink in, but as they do Crowley’s heart swells. He won’t be a demon anymore. He won’t be particularly good, sure, but he won’t be expected to be being of pure evil anymore either. He could just _be_. The thought is overwhelming.

God laughs again.

“I see that I have no objections to this plan. It is decided then. When you leave this place, both of you will be completely human and neither heaven nor hell will be able to stake a claim on your existence more than they would with any other human. You will be free from scrutiny on both sides, free to carry on with your lives as normal.”

Crowley feels like he’s floating. This all seems too good to be true, and yet he feels no need to doubt it. Aziraphale still looks like he has his misgivings, however.

“Is something the matter, Aziraphale?” God asks.

“Well, Lord, it’s not so much that something is the matter as much as it is confusion. You see, I can’t seem to sense Crowley’s love anymore. I could up until a second ago, but now there’s nothing. Yet somehow, I still feel heaven’s power flowing through me. Are we… are we still going to be able to perform miracles as humans?”

There’s a sudden crash of thunder, despite the sky being clear and when Crowley and Aziraphale recover from their shock, they see before them a flaming sword, identical to the one Aziraphale used to have.

“Many years ago, I entrusted one of these to an angel without much thought or hesitation. Barely a few months later, that angel had given it away to two brand-new humans so that they might have a way to protect and provide for themselves as they navigated the world and learned what it was to be alive. That’s precisely what I am doing now. Your miracles will help you as you navigate the world as new humans. All I ask is that in addition to using this power as an aid for yourselves, you will try to do good with it too.”

“We’ll try our utmost, won’t we, Crowley?”

Crowley is just staring at the ground, overwhelmed with emotion.

“Thank you,” he finally manages to say.

“You’re welcome, Crowley. Now, go in peace and enjoy your freedom.”

For a moment, nothing happens as they stare out along the barren landscape, but then the vision fades to black and Crowley is warm and more comfortable than he’s ever been before. He’s asleep, he knows it, but it has never felt so good, so perfect and so all-consuming. He’s not sure he ever wants to wake up again. But then he realises that the unfamiliar weight around his waist is Aziraphale’s arm and his heart surges. Slowly, trying his hardest not to disturb the angel, he turns to face him and is surprised to find that the Aziraphale looking back at him has dark hair.

Completely human, just like she promised.

He reaches out to stroke some of the soft hair away from his forehead and as he does, Aziraphale’s eyes flutter open.

“Good morning,” says Aziraphale. “I do believe this is my first time waking up.”

“It suits you.” Crowley is grinning. He can’t help it. He can’t believe how lucky he is.

“You’re very sweet,” says Aziraphale, then, with a small start, he opens his eyes fully. “Crowley, goodness, your eyes are human. And brown.”

“Really?” he asks. “Do they look alright? I mean, do I suit them? Should I just keep on wearing the sunglasses?”

“They’re beautiful,” he says, pressing a kiss to the tip of Crowley’s nose.

“Your hair is dark brown too,” says Crowley and seeing the panic on Aziraphale’s face, he grins. “It makes you look devastatingly handsome.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it,” laughs Aziraphale. “What is the time anyway?”

Crowley reaches over to his bedside table for his phone.

“It’s quarter past six.”

“Well, that’s far too early to be awake.” And, snuggling closer to Crowley, he falls asleep again.

Crowley lies there, listening to Aziraphale’s deep breathing, intoxicated by the scent of the shampoo the salon used on him the day before. He has no idea what he did to deserve this, how after all the years of pain and torment, this is how things have turned out, but he will never stop being grateful for it.

Not even five minutes later, Crowley falls asleep in Aziraphale’s arms.


End file.
